


Thinking

by Heza



Category: Red vs Blue
Genre: Gen, M/M, Spoilers for RVB 15!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11037810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heza/pseuds/Heza
Summary: Simmons has a lot on his mind as of late, but he's certainly not thinking about one Dexter Grif!





	Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> An anon requested this on tumblr. Enjoy~ ^^

Simmons had been keeping himself busy as they flew through space. With Dylan keeping the ship mostly on auto-pilot, he wasn’t needed to help fly, so Simmons found other things to do. Like not thinking about Grif! He was _very_ good about not thinking about Grif. 

The problem was everyone ELSE was thinking so much about Grif. Whenever he found himself around Caboose, for example, Caboose would eventually turn the subject to Grif. He tell him, “do not worry! Because Best Friends _always_ come back, and the more you think about Grif, the sooner he’ll come back, because that’s how it works”. _Clearly_ Caboose was just projecting his own, hurt feelings about Church onto the situation. And there wasn’t even a situation really. Because Simmons certainly wasn’t thinking about Grif, in any way shape or form.

But it wasn’t just Caboose. Sarge would alternate between lamenting about not having Grif around for target practice and being pleased that “the orange idiot” wasn’t around to mess things up, even if his words lacked their usual flame. Tucker, when not being upset about the fact he wasn’t around to take care of his now many kids when he thought not one could see, was constantly making snide remarks about how Simmons wasn’t recognizable without “wideload” next to him, even though there were PLENTY of times in the past where Simmons was without Grif, and like those times Simmons was NOT upset in the slightest. Even Jax, who had apparently watched the security tapes from Blood Gulch not once but _four times,_ commented on how strange it was to hear just Simmons voice without Grif’s accompanying it. See, everyone else was just obsessed with Grif, but not Simmons! Simmons was perfectly fine without his best friend, even though they had left without a goodbye or a promise to return or worked out the thing that had happened between them on Chorus. Nope! Simmons was just peachy-keen thank you very much!

 

Tonight, Simmons was not thinking about Grif by doing self maintenance. His robotic limbs were a little creaky as of late, with bits catching on themselves, and his eye wasn’t adjusting to light as fast as it should and occasionally getting stuck whenever he tried to glance to his right. Simmons was seated at a desk Dylan had offered for the task, his leg, arm, and eye on the table surface before him. It was a little hard working one handed and one eyed, but Simmons could manage. He wasn’t occasionally looking up to ask Grif to pass him a tool, or shine a light onto a particularly dark spot, or to help him balance while he adjusted in his seat, and he _definitely_ wasn’t wishing Grif was there to help.

When he had dropped his multi-tool to the floor for the seventh time, Simmons sighed heavily. Trying to pick it up without toppling from his chair would take him several minutes, and it was already getting late into the night. Well. Not the night-night, but the artificial night that everyone slept in as they made their way to their next destination on the “Find Church and Rescue him” mission. 

Holding onto the back of the chair with his human arm, Simmons stretched his leg towards the tool, trying to grab ahold of it with his toes. “Come _on_ …” he grunted, stretching further, his toes just about brushing the handle of the multi-tool. “Just a little- shit!” he swore as he accidentally kicked the tool further away from himself.Simmons sat up straight and whacked his head against his desk with a groan. Stupid tool. Stupid current lack of depth perception. Stupid Grif not being here to laugh at him and taunt him while picking the tool back up for him.

After several minutes, Simmons grabbed his nearby crutch and struggled to his feet. As he hobbled towards the tool, the door to the room opened. It was only because he was so tired that Simmons said, without thinking, “About time Grif, can you grab that for me?” as he turned to get his good eye facing the door.

“Simmons? What are you still doing up?” It was Donut, of course, because Grif wasn’t here. Simmons face fell, because who wants to deal with _Donut_ at this hour?

“Oh. Hey there Donut,” Simmons sighed, managing to hold his crutch with his armpit as he rubbed sleep out of his eye. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Oh, you know me,” Donut said lightly, “I’ve got a hard time sleeping in moving vehicles with loud engines. It's so hard to sleep when something's vibrating away beneath you.”

Simmons closed his eye for a moment and willed away the resulting mental image. “Right… Well I’m _really_ busy right now Donut,” he said as he continued to hobble towards the multi-tool, “and I’d like to be finished before breakfast.”

“You know I’m all for letting you finish first Simmons, but you look like you need a little help getting there,” Donut pointed out as Simmons carefully balanced on one leg, crouching down to pick up the tool. “I won’t join in of course if you don’t want me to, but don’t you think you’d be done quicker with another pair of hands in there?

Simmons sighed. Despite how he insisted on wording it, Donut was right. He’d be done this a lot faster with someone’s help. “Fine, okay, pull up a chair and grab a flashlight.”

Donut beamed at him.

 

Much to Simmons’ surprise, the two of them worked in near silence broken only by Simmons requesting the light to be moved or for a part that was out of his reach. Of all the people on ship, except Lopez who didn’t care, Donut was the only person not to ask Simmons about Grif or talk about Grif in any manner. Maybe it’d be worth hanging around Donut more, if he could handle the constant innuendos. 

On second thought, maybe Simmons was better off keeping Lopez for company. 

“Aaaand there~!” Donut said in singsong as he helped attach Simmons’ arm. “That’s the last of them. How’s that feel?”

Simmons experimentally rotated his arm, balanced on his robotic leg, and cycled through a few different settings on his eye as he looked around. “Feels alright to me,” he nodded, looking back at Donut. “Thanks for the help Donut.”

“I’m always here to help!” Donut gave a little salute before making his way towards the door. Simmons had barely begun to clean up before Donut was back, peeking his head in the doorway. “Hey Simmons, just one quick question.”

Simmons looked over, blinking. “Uh… Sure?”

“How are you fairing?”

Simmons looked Donut over. While he was still smiling, Donut looked worried. His brows where a little knitted together, and his good eye did not reflect the smile. “I’m fine,” Simmons told him.

“Well,” Donut’s face and tone became a tad more gentle, “I’m always here to help.” With a nod, Donut left the room, leaving Simmons alone to think.

 

Since he hadn’t asked about Grif, Simmons didn’t tell him what was on his mind. He didn’t tell Donut that, sometimes, he _did_ think about Grif. That sometimes he’d see something that was a similar shade of orange from the corner of his eye and that, for half a second, he’d think that Grif was there. He didn’t tell Donut that how much Grif saying “I don’t like you” hurt, _still_ hurt.

He didn’t tell Donut that he was _constantly_ thinking _I fell in love with my best friend and he doesn’t care._

 

Simmons didn’t tell Donut any of that. But that was okay. He had a feeling Donut already knew.

Maybe Simmons would spend more time with Donut after all. 


End file.
